Backless. Sparkling. Unapologetic. The kind of dangerous that doesn’t scream, but whispers. My pulse jumps as I pull it over my head, the fabric skimming my skin like it already knows my secrets. I smooth it down slowly, deliberately, and meet my reflection.
She doesn’t look unsure anymore.
I slip into matching heels, fasten my favourite dangling earrings, watching how they catch the light when I tilt my head. There’s something different in my eyes now. Something sharp. Awake.
Bold.
Hot… yes. But more than that,
Untouchable.
Tate lets out a low whistle the moment I step out of my apartment.
“Well damn,” she grins. “Okay, Emmy. I see you.”
I laugh, warmth blooming in my chest as I take her in. “Thanks, Tate. And you,” I gesture helplessly at her, becausewow. “You look like an actual goddess.”
She really does. The gold dress clings to her like it was designed with her in mind, catching the light every time she moves. Matching heels, legs for days, her long hair pulled into a sleek high ponytail that only sharpens her already lethal beauty.
If the world were fair, she would’ve been a supermodel. Billboards. Runways. The whole thing.
Instead, she’s here with me, Saturday night, heels clicking against concrete, the city waiting ahead of us like it knows something we don’t.
And for the first time all evening, I feel ready to meet it.
We start the night with drinks, laughter spilling easily between us, the kind that loosens something tight in my chest. The bar is loud, crowded and pulsing with life. Music vibrates through the floor, through my bones, settling low and warm inside me.
For the first time in a long while, I let myself breathe.
I let the noise drown out the weight I’ve been carrying. Let the lights blur the edges of everything that’s been pressing down on me. Just for tonight, I allow myself to exist in the moment, to feel wanted, untethered, free.
I’m weaving my way back from the bathroom when it happens.
I collide with something solid.
Hard.
It’s like walking straight into a wall.
Strong hands steady me instantly, fingers closing around my elbow before I can even gasp. I look up and meet Ryan’s eyes.
“Careful there, Emmy,” he says with an easy smile, his gaze sweeping over me slowly, deliberately, like he’s committing every inch to memory. His grip lingers just a second longer than necessary. “Good to see you. Feels like we’ve been missing each other at work, my security shifts changed.”
Something about the way he says it feels intentional.
We start talking. Then laughing. Then another round appears in front of us, and suddenly time slips sideways. It feels effortless, familiar, like we’ve known each other longer than we have any right to.
Ryan is charming without trying, warm, attentive, the kind of attention that makes you feel seen. Desired. I don’t pull away when he leans closer, his voice dipping just for me.
And I don’t stop smiling.
I don’t notice the shift in the air.
Not when Ryan suggests dancing. Not when his fingers brush mine, light and inviting. The music is too loud, the lights too low, my body already swaying before my mind catches up.
He pulls me onto the dance floor, and I go willingly, laughing as the crowd closes in around us. One of his friends, whose name I still haven’t caught, slides up beside Tate, clearly trying to impress her. She gives him just enough attention to keep him hopeful, clearly amused by the effort.
Ryan moves closer, hands settling at my waist as his hips find the rhythm of mine. My arms lift above my head, following the beat, the music rolling through me in waves. It’s easy. Carefree. Harmless.
